Once Upon A December
by LovexAndxEdelweiss
Summary: Every year Lithuania is a witness to Russia's dance with the dead. Mostly Russia-centric.


Title ~ Once Upon A December

Pair ~ Russia and Lithuania

Rating ~ K+

AN ~ I got inspired while listening to the soundtrack for the Dreamworks movie, Anastasia. All rights belong to them and Himayura-sensei. Anastasya and her family were placed under arrest in January, but were not killed until July. The dance he's remembering isn't anything important, just the last dance he attended with a free Nastya.

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><p>The date was early December.<p>

The place was a little used ballroom, dingy with dust, the curtains rotting with age and misuse. It was dark with more than just a lack of light, an intangible aura of hate, regret, sadness suffocating any cheer or weak winter sun that seeped through the damaged window coverings.

Russia stood in the center of the room, eyes closed in thought, his head hung low.

_Dancing bears…_

Motes of dust spun slowly in the lank light, a mockery of the bright beautiful parties this room once housed.

_Painted wings…_

Eyes still closed, the Russian's heavy boots slowly began to shuffle across the floor, muted by a heavy layer of dust and grime.

_Things I almost remember…_

Another shuffle, a slow turn. His hands raised into position, cradling a young - no, sixteen years old now, no longer young, not in her world - woman in a waltz, a beautiful and doomed princess.

_And a song, someone sings…_

His voice rang out in remorseful song; eerily quiet in the stifling air of the room.

_Once upon a December._

He smiled at the girl, lifting her for a brief spin. Around them, the free and flitting boyars cradled their own wives or children, a free and loving atmosphere.

_Someone holds me safe and warm…_

This girl, his lovely princess, his Anastasya… She would not rule him but in her heart, and his own.

_Horses prance through a silver storm…_

Even the snow whipping around the palace had not stopped them from gathering. Food, music, and socializing would not be withheld from the nobles at any cost. He realized this with a dark pang in his soul, this painful and ugly truth, ah but still… but still…

_Figures dancing gracefully…_

He never missed a step, every one finding exactly the same place it had all those many, many years ago, grooves worn into the floor from the annual ritual.

_Across my memories…_

Lost in his last dance with his beautiful dead princess, he didn't notice the usually barred door open slowly, silently even for all its neglect. A young man in appearance leaned against the door frame, forest green eyes betraying his true age. For all his limbs appeared, he had seen war and death, plague, famine, slaughter beyond human imagination or reconciliation. But all this was muted as he watched his master, in more ways than one, slowly dance across the room. It was silent as a grave save for the occasional clip of the Russian's steel-toed boots against the floor, and the soft shift of dust underfoot. In their minds, there was once again an orchestra and laughter, cheerful chattering, the soft pit-pat of snow against the windows.

_Someone holds me safe and warm…_

For once, her screams did not echo in the dark places of his mind, the soul-shattering echo of bullets ricocheting and a mother's futile pleads.

_Horses prance through a silver storm…_

The wind was mild, the snow gentle. On the balcony, watching the guests arrive, it caught their cheeks and eyelashes and they laughed together, childish, loving laughter.

_Figures dancing gracefully…_

'My little doll, my little Anastasya…' He had whispered at the height of their dance and so did once more into the dark of the room.

_Across my memories…_

The warm, candle lit room was vanishing under his feet; he clung to the memory desperately. Just one more dance, one more minute… One more moment…

_Far away, long ago…_

Useless, it was useless. Every year it faded more. He forgot her hair, her dress, her warmth. Next would be her eyes, her smile… it was only a matter of time before she was gone forever, leaving only a nameless, faceless ache.

_Glowing dim as an ember…_

The spectator straightened as he recognized the beginning of the end of this yearly dance, an event he had merely watched for more years than he cared to remember.

_Things my heart used to know…_

The Russian's voice was breaking with sorrow, it was his cue to leave, the other man must never know he had witnessed this most private moment.

_Things it yearns to remember…_

He found himself walking forward, the noise of his own boots lost on the other occupant in the room, lost as he was in the last tatters of his beloved child.

_And a song, someone sings…_

He knew exactly how to step in, his own soft, sorrowful voice blending in perfect Russian with Ivan's, which was husky with tears.

_Once upon a December._


End file.
